Fiction Friday: The Torch

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The torch burned merrily on the wall, safe within its sconce. Its flickering blaze danced high and low, denting the gloom in the dungeon hall. A guard had placed it here and set it aflame only a short while ago and here it would stay it was needed or was extinguished by time or something else.

The torch did not raise an alarm when it saw the small figure, dressed all in black, creep past without a sound. Instead it was happy to crackle and pop as oil and wood were consumed to release heat and light briefly into the world that surrounded it.

The torch could do no more than lightly illuminate the drops of blood on the floor that followed the figure back to the dungeon entrance. Nor could it comment on the fact that the initial figure was not alone in leaving the complex.

The torch did its duty when it an alarm finally sounded and guard boots pounded noisily after their prey, pausing only briefly to grab it from its sconce and charge into the night. Another torch would replace it the next time a guard came around.

But it was only after that guard fell and the torch set the field alight that the torch briefly felt part of the larger world until it burned black and eventually expired. It had done its duty and done it well.

Farewell brief light as you fall to the darkness of the eternal night…